


dirty rip out the whole of your soul love

by Flumes



Series: and the future runs through our bones [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu in Brazil: the fic, Brazil, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Closure, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Smut, heed the rating on this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flumes/pseuds/Flumes
Summary: “I want to know it all. Your life here.”Atsumu knows with a certainty that Hinata was shaped here; by the shifting sands of Rio’s beaches, by cobbled together Portuguese and a ravenous pit of hunger for a higher wall to climb, lapping up everything the country had to offer and more, be it picanha over the barbeque, or the salt-stricken breeze pushing out from the horizon, or the faint stirrings of reggaeton between bars that line the beachfronts to snare in the tourists pink with sunburn. Greedy as Atsumu is, he wants to devour that knowledge. Wants to understand just how the man Hinata Shouyou as he stands now, fighting his own washing, came to be.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: and the future runs through our bones [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828594
Comments: 24
Kudos: 180





	dirty rip out the whole of your soul love

Atsumu panics when he pats down his back pocket and can’t find his passport. His heart skips a beat, twisting in the spot as he waits in line to move through passport control, swirling the contents of his hand luggage around in circles as he searches miserably for it. He most definitely brought it with him; he wouldn’t have been able to get on the damn plane without it, but for some reason he just can’t seem to find it. The line moves, the next person passing through the gate. Shit, he’s next.

_Calm down,_ he scolds himself, forcing himself to think back. He’d been in a bit of a hurry to get through security because there had been an accident on the way to the airport, Osamu infuriatingly calm despite the minutes creeping on, Atsumu chewing him out from the passenger seat as he had pictured the plane taking off without him; as he had imagined running only to watch it through the windows, pressing his hand to the glass. Where does he normally put things when he’s not thinking about them? It's not like he has a lot of options.

His frantic pat down of himself yields results just in time: idiot that he is he had stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket, shimmying it out as he steps up to the airport security official. The man shoots him an unimpressed look as he wrestles it from his pocket and passes it over, the cover streaked with sweat. He narrows his eyes, looks between it and Atsumu as if he’s changed wildly in the space of the two years since he last had it renewed, and then slides it back with a crook of his finger to beckon him on.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he skips onwards to the luggage belt, shifting from foot to foot as he watches the bags trundle around in a circle. Every five seconds he checks his phone. Still no new messages. Maybe it’s because he’s just landed and his network is taking a while to settle. He forces himself to put it back in his pocket, slouching as he grows weary from watching the same handful of bags go around and around, the rhythm of it dizzying. For some reason sitting for hours on a plane is about as tiring as a five set volleyball match.

Finally, when it seems like everyone else on his flight has already moved on, he spots his bag with the rubber Jackal keyring hanging from the handle; a piece of merchandise he had snagged at one of their fan events when the manager wasn’t looking. Its snarling face bounces as he rolls his case along the ground, wheels rattling, lost in the myriad colourful signs around him that he can’t read. Everywhere is a wash of sound, the myriad conversations blending together into white noise when he can’t understand the languages.

Huge, sprawling windows look out upon the airfield beyond the runway where a distant plane soars into a blue, blue sky. The colour seems so much more vibrant here, barely a wisp of a cloud, but inside the airport is deceptively cool. It doesn’t stop Atsumu’s hands from sweating, feeling like he’s wandering in circles as he searches the endless roll of the crowds around him. A girl cries out, waving at another girl in the distance, and they could be exchanging greetings in any number of languages, but the joyful sentiment bleeds through.

“Atsumu-san!”

His head jerks up and his eyes fall upon him in an instant. Standing in the middle of the milling tourists in their Hawaiian shirts and the businesspeople in their finely pressed suits he stands, awash in the cool blues of the endless sky a hair’s breath through the glass. His skin is golden brown, warm against the vibrant red of his hair, wearing an oversized shirt with the Asas São Paulo logo that hangs loose around his collarbones. He looks radiant; effervescent, and Atsumu’s hand tightens on the handle of his suitcase with the need to run forward and scoop him into his arms.

Instead he waves, taking measured steps forward. Remembers the rhythm of his usual swagger. “Shouyou-kun,” he says, not hiding the way he looks him over. “The sun’s been treatin’ ya well.”

Hinata beams up at him. “I’m just glad I made it on time. I was worried I was going to be late!”

“And miss my arrival?” Atsumu scoffs. “Bet ya’ve been here all mornin’, haven’t ya?”

Bright, pealing laughter bubbles up from Hinata, and Atsumu can’t fight the way his heart swells, just standing in the middle of the airport as life continues on around him. He’s probably supposed to move. Supposed to do anything but stare, drinking in the sight of Hinata after so many months apart. Relearning the lines of his face, his big amber bright eyes, and the fan of his lashes across golden cheeks. His fingers twitch with the need to touch but he resists. It’s been a while and he’s not quite sure where they stand.

Hinata is first to push off, turning to lead him out of the airport. “I hope you don’t mind that I got the bus so we’ll have to go back that way.” He glances over his shoulder as if Atsumu’s going to say anything on the contrary.

“Slum it with the peasants? Whatever d’ya think of me, Shouyou-kun?”

“I promise the view is worth it!”

*

Hinata stays in an apartment close enough to the ocean that the scent of it lingers in the air as it curls through the open window, curtains fluttering. It’s pretty bare as far as furnishings go, likely Hinata too preoccupied with gobbling up as many games as he can now that he has returned to the torrid heat of Rio de Janeiro in the wake of the league’s season ending with his team’s victory. There are too many faces for him to catch up with, too many haunts to retread, too many beaches to trawl for hapless fools who do not recognise the formidable ninja of the volleyball circuit.

“That was Heitor and Nice’s wedding,” Hinata says, catching him staring at a photograph of Hinata wedged between a tall, dark skinned man in a tuxedo and a smiling, curvy woman in a sparkling dress, all three of them grinning brightly against twinkling lights. “That was just before I left Brazil the first time.”

Atsumu looks up, sees the soft, faraway gaze, and feels something in his gut clench. Hinata shakes himself out of it and hums as he potters around his apartment, directing Atsumu to the tiny bathroom, the kitchen, and a poky spare room that actually has a bed. All in all it’s not so bad, if slightly run down looking, but Atsumu doubts that Hinata cares so long as it's functional.

“I’ll introduce you to them later,” he says. “I think you’ll like Heitor. It’s impossible not to, really.”

Atsumu tilts his head, watching as he drags a bundle of laundry and stuffs it into the washing machine, lips curving at the thought of Hinata so comfortable in such a domestic setting. There’s something thrillingly intimate about it; to be invited into the minutiae of his life. The old familiar itch flares up again, the need for more, but he quashes it. Hinata is like the gulls that circle high through the window. Free. He’s not someone to be held down to the earth.

Atsumu never thought he was either, until he met Hinata again for the first time in five years.

“Are you tired after the flight? I was thinking we could go out tonight and hit up the beach but if you’re –”

“I want to.”

Hinata pauses, sheets hanging out the gaping mouth of the washing machine. “Yeah?”

Atsumu suddenly feels too big for the room, like there’s no space to fit his limbs. “I want to know it all. Your life here.”

Atsumu knows with a certainty that Hinata was shaped here; by the shifting sands of Rio’s beaches, by cobbled together Portuguese and a ravenous pit of hunger for a higher wall to climb, lapping up everything the country had to offer and more, be it picanha over the barbeque, or the salt-stricken breeze pushing out from the horizon, or the faint stirrings of reggaeton between bars that line the beachfronts to snare in the tourists pink with sunburn. Greedy as Atsumu is, he wants to devour that knowledge. Wants to understand just how the man Hinata Shouyou as he stands now, fighting his own washing, came to be.

“Well, if you’re sure. Just don’t expect it to be easy. Even Oikawa-san couldn’t –”

“Hey, hey, Oikawa ain’t here, is he? San Juan’s a fair stab from Rio.”

Hinata’s brow furrows for a moment and then smooths out, replaced by a smile. “I dunno, he said he was heading over this way not too long ago.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes and Hinata erupts into laughter, loud and melodious. “You guys are kind of similar, actually. When I first met you, you kind of reminded me of him.”

And Atsumu doesn’t have a clue what to do with that information, wading through a swamp of envy, puzzlement, and a strange sense of loss. To Atsumu Hinata is like no one else, so bright and full of energy that no one could ever hope to match his vibrant colours. In comparison they only come out as faded as Hinata’s lemon coloured bedsheets, crammed into the washing machine and the door slammed with a finality.

Hinata pauses when he looks at Atsumu, as if reading all of this on his face. He holds up his hands, placating. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing!” He leans against the counter, the machine rumbling to life beside him. Atsumu can see his clothes spin. “You see, Oikawa-san was Karasuno’s first big opponent. Our first big loss. And you had such a similar look in your eye the first time we met that it gave me chills because I remembered that feeling when he was on the other side of the net, like he was so hungry for the win that it would take everything we had as a team to beat him. I just think it’s kind of funny, how things are now.”

“Funny?” he croaks out.

“Mm! Meeting Oikawa-san in Brazil like that. I mean, what are the odds? My old rival, on the other side of the world? It helped, back then, because honestly when I first came to Brazil I was kind of lonely.” Again his gaze turns slack, Hinata slipping into the past. He seems to reel himself back with a little shake of his head. “It was even weirder walking into practice that first day and seeing _you_. Bokuto-san I knew about, because we kept in touch, but you…”

“Me?”

Hinata huffs a soft little laugh. “Well, you did make that promise all those years ago. Do you know, I never thought about it once until that day when I saw you again. That was how I knew, you know?” His gaze sharpens down, a trickle of fire creeping in that makes Atsumu burn. “I knew I had made the right decision. Knew it had to be, hm, maybe not fate exactly, but something close enough. Like that was how things were supposed to be.”

Atsumu blinks, mouth dry. He wants to say – _something_ – in response but he can’t summon any words. It’s like Hinata had known, even though he never said anything, just what’s been keeping him up at night more and more the closer his Brazil trip had loomed. The tension in his shoulders slackens and he breathes out a sigh as Hinata retreats into his room to gather his things. He looks around Hinata’s apartment, the anxiety still lingering within him, but he feels easier now. Sure, he’s still not sure where they stand, but at least he knows it means something to Hinata.

“Alright!” says Hinata, emerging from his room with his shoes. “Let’s go!”

*

Atsumu’s few attempts at beach have all been disasters so it’s of no surprise to him that he finds himself slipping and sliding across the sand when Hinata finds them a couple of young Brazilians to play. He’s not used to such an unforgiving surface, expecting it to support him when he leaps only for it to give beneath his feet, stumbling as his toss spins pitifully into the air. Their opponents, a pair named Felipe and Antonio, jeer and laugh until Hinata darts into position and snaps the ball into the corner right past Felipe’s head, his hair ruffling by the rush of air.

“You’re getting better, Atsumu-san,” he says, though the little demon is laughing at him. “You need to jump like this, see?” He demonstrates, showing him how to jump in such a way as to stop the sand from throwing him off balance.

The air is no more cooler for the onset of darkness, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. A series of floodlights illuminate the beach all along the side of the road, the streets beyond awash with colour from the gleaming hotels on the other side. The inky black water is all but invisible, Atsumu only aware of it due to the way it breathes against the shore. In the distance boats spot the horizon line, clouds obscuring the moon. The various sensations are overwhelming, so much more information to take in than the simple, clean lines of an indoor court.

Atsumu eyes the men on the other side of the net ribbing them with taunts, no less recognisable despite the language barrier, Hinata shooting back responses in easy Portuguese, and he feels the hunger sink into his belly. There’s never been a battle that Atsumu hasn’t wanted to win and here is no different. Not with Hinata by his side and what feels like his entire world on the line.

“Ya’ve been patient with me, Shouyou-kun,” he says, wiping his mouth. “But I think it’s time to get started.”

Hinata’s gaze swivels to his, crow-like in its intensity. He nods, vibrating with energy. _Toss to me, toss to me, toss to me,_ he can feel radiate in waves. It’s not so different from playing side by side as fellow Jackals, after all.

Felipe serves the ball, Hinata quick to dig the ball into the air as if he’d known the exact space he was aiming for. Knowing him, he probably goaded him into it, Atsumu’s stomach flipping with a molten hunger at the thought, and then he’s adjusting his footing with his eyes on the ball, prepared now for how the sand will shift around him. Ten fingers on the ball – the best support for his spikers – and then he’s tossing the ball right up to the net, the poor schmucks on the other side unprepared for Hinata’s speed as he tears after it like a man possessed.

Hinata spikes it straight into the sand and then turns and pumps his fist in triumph, radiant in the white beach lights, and Atsumu lifts his own fist in response.

Maybe Atsumu is beginning to understand this whole Brazil thing, just a little.

*

The waitress lifts the lid of a clay pot to a waft of steam that only makes the room in the bar even hotter, packed in with so many bodies around the wooden tables, and Atsumu is hit with the fragrant scent of coconut and coriander, mouth watering at the seafood stew. After so many games out on the unforgiving sand, he’s ravenous.

“The moqueca here is really good,” says Hinata, holding up his beer.

Atsumu clinks them together in a toast, quick to dig in and burning the roof of his mouth. He doesn’t even care, the stew delicious when washed down with beer after a long, exhausting day. He feels sated in the way he only can after having worked hard, limbs sore and tingling, and the food warms his belly, easing that shaky feeling that had been creeping up on him during their last set.

“So, Shouyou-kun, were ya doing that every time?”

“Huh?” Hinata mumbles, cheeks full.

“Getting guys to buy ya drinks after hustling them like that?”

Hinata stills mid-chew, looking like a hamster in the headlights. His cheeks colour with pink, quick to chew and swallow before taking a swig of his beer. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Uh huh,” he says, leaning on his palm. “Like ya weren’t reelin’ ‘em all in. Leaving broken hearts all up and down Rio, were ya? São Paulo, too?”

“Ah, what are you saying, Atsumu-san?” he says, waving his hands in front of him. He’s blazing red now. Adorable.

Atsumu waggles his brows. “So you were, then? Never knew you had it in ya.”

“I wasn’t! Oh my god.”

Atsumu laughs hard enough to draw a few glances but the chatter around them is loud enough that it’s nothing that warrants any more than that. The alcohol is sinking into his tired limbs, leaving him warm and content. He could give into the jealousy that nibbles on the edges of his consciousness, but there’s no real use in getting worked up over something that happened years ago. Besides, he’s in no place to judge, given how quickly he tripped head over heels as soon as Hinata waltzed right back into his life.

“Would ya stay here if you could?”

Hinata blinks, peeking around his hands. “Huh?”

Atsumu picks at the label on his beer, condensation cool as it runs down his finger. “Rio. Or São Paulo. Would ya stay in Brazil? Yer Oikawa has gone native down in Argentina, hasn’t he?”

Hinata hums. “I don’t know. Maybe?” he muses, unaware of the sound of Atsumu’s heart shattering all over the table. “I’ve just been taking the opportunities open to me. Haven’t really thought of much beyond that, you know?”

“Mm.”

Hinata’s phone buzzes on the table a second before Atsumu’s does. He watches Hinata lift his, blue glow washing over his face as his mouth curls into a smile. “Hey, did you see?” he says, flipping it around. “Bokuto-san’s been trying to convince Akaashi-san to take some time off work for ages.”

The picture depicts Bokuto with an arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, the beach shimmering behind them. Even after knowing each other since they were, like, fifteen they still remain sickeningly in love. Atsumu’s sure his current agony is karma for messing in their lives. Only, no, really he should be taking credit for finally knocking those two idiots’ heads together. Atsumu deserves some karmic retribution for being the one to get them to finally make a move after so many years of miserable pining.

“They celebrating the National Team news?”

“It’s pretty exciting! Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

To taking the stage at the Olympics, in front of the eyes of the entire world? To standing on a court he’s only dreamed of since he first picked up a ball all those years ago and discovered how it felt to crush his opponents? To standing shoulder to shoulder with Hinata again, wearing the same jerseys?

“Ya could say that, yeah.”

“Oi!” says Hinata, “What kind of reaction is that? I’ve been dreaming of the Olympics since the beginning.”

“Yer not the only one.” Atsumu takes a long pull of his beer, never leaving Hinata’s gaze. “Besides, I think if I’m gonna set for ya again, then the Olympics is where I want to do it.”

Hinata’s cheeks colour again and it’s so very pretty, the blush rising beneath golden skin. Hunger strikes Atsumu again but it’s a different kind of hunger from before. His fingers twitch around his beer bottle, light headed now. He’s not sure how many he’s had, the bottles gathering on their table, and he started before their meal arrived. It strips him down a layer, makes him more open.

It’s inevitable, really, that they fall into one another the moment they step through the door to Hinata’s apartment. In the gloom of his hallway Hinata pushes him against the wall and licks into his mouth, beer on his breath as he presses them together. Atsumu groans, grabbing his hips and yanking them together until they’re flush. The heat is overwhelming. There’s no air con, sweat gathering beneath his shirt. He wants to taste all of Hinata, the months spent apart building the ache within him.

“Shouyou-kun,” he whispers into the stillness.

“Shouyou-kun,” he murmurs like a prayer.

Hinata backs him into his bedroom, amber streetlight dancing across his eyes as he plants a hand on his chest and forces him onto the bed. Atsumu crashes back onto fresh linen, drinking in the sight of him, carved out of the darkness like a god that demands sacrifice he’s all too willing to pay. For perhaps the first time in his life Atsumu wants to pray, fingers clasping around Hinata’s hips as he crawls on top of him, digging into firm muscle and feeling his body set alight with the touch. He’s breathless with the sight of him, Hinata wreathed in golden light streaming in through the window and as merciless as he is as he dashes across the court, hips already moving.

“Shouyou-kun,” he breathes, wrecked. “I’ve missed ya.”

His hands skim under Hinata’s shirt, shucking it off so he can roam the expanse of sun-bronzed skin, feeling Hinata shudder beneath his fingertips, muscles tensing as his palm strokes down his abdomen. “Atsumu-san,” he sighs, head lolling back to expose his throat.

Burning up, Atsumu flips them and presses Hinata down into the twist of his sheets, teeth sinking right into his pulse. Hinata’s hips jerk up with a whine but Atsumu pins them down with his own, sweat dampening his forehead. He thinks he could incinerate right here and die a happy man, knowing how Hinata looks with his eyes at half mast, lips cherry red from sloppy kisses shared between them. His mouth trails down to Hinata’s collarbone, licking the sweat that gathers there, before he skims down to the bud of his nipple.

Hinata arches with a moan and Atsumu pins him down with hands on his hips, tongue laving over him and revelling in the way the shiver racks his body. “Like that, do ya?”

“Atsumu-san,” Hinata pants, fingers tugging painfully in his hair. “ _Please._ ”

And who is Atsumu to deny him, when he’s begging so sweetly? Returning to Hinata’s mouth to lick in between his lips, he grinds his hips down against him and feels the heat of their erections brushing, bed creaking beneath them. Hinata’s hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, lids low over dark lashes, chest heaving with shallow breaths. God, he’s breathtaking. Sun-kissed and honed from years of chasing a dream Atsumu knows well, he’s so precious he wishes he knew how to be more delicate, fingertips burrowing into the meat of his hips.

Atsumu licks down his navel, thrilling at the rattling breath Hinata releases. His fingers hook in his shorts and drag them down, Hinata’s erection springing free as he tosses the clothing onto the floor. Hinata’s hand drags over his eyes, the flush creeping across his chest in a way that drives Atsumu crazy.

“Atsumu-san, _please._ ”

“I’ve got ya. C’mon, Shouyou.” His mouth drags down, down, down until he’s licking the underside of Hinata’s cock, smirking when Hinata shudders with a whine. “Don’t forget that I’ve got you.” He feels him, hot and heavy against his tongue, drinking in the musky scent. “Ya can’t get rid of me so easily.”

Atsumu’s hands stroke his thighs, feeling for each twitch and spasm of his muscles. His thumb digs into the crease where his leg meets his hip, running along the length and stopping just shy of his cock as he breathes over it, drinking in every gasp and sigh above him. Gaze flicking upwards, he meets Hinata’s eyes as he sinks down on his cock, agonisingly slow when he pulls back up, dragging his lips along the head. Hinata looks wrecked, biting into his hand to cover his whimpers, thighs splayed wide for Atsumu as he attempts to grind into his mouth.

“Yer really feelin’ it tonight,” he says, hand wrapping around him to give him a few teasing strokes. “Did ya miss me?”

“Atsumu-san,” Hinata gasps. “It’s – I need –”

“Mm.” His hand trails lower, brushing over his hole. Hinata jerks, scrabbling away and in a drawer, and Atsumu laughs as he tosses the bottle of lube and smacks him on the forehead with it. “Eager, huh? Been thinkin’ about it?”

Hinata kicks him gently with his heel. “Don’t tease me,” he whines.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. He flicks the cap on the lube, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers. His own cock is trapped in his shorts, throbbing now with need, but it’s all secondary to taking Hinata apart piece by piece. He wants Hinata to remember this night for months to come. Wants to plant himself right into Hinata’s memories of Brazil, so that the two are so intertwined they can no longer be separated.

He’s slow when he pushes into Hinata from behind, chest flush with his back. The heat is overwhelming, sweat collecting in the places where their skin meets, and he drowns in the musky scent of him as he brings their hips together, Hinata scrabbling in his sheets with soft puffs of breath. Atsumu rests there for a moment, nuzzling into his neck before biting down. He wants to mark him up. Wants to lay claim to something that was never truly his because he’s terrible this way, always greedy for more.

“Aren’t you going to – to move?”

“I dunno,” he breathes into Hinata’s ear, enjoying the way he shivers, “it’s kind of nice like this.”

Hinata huffs, attempting to push his hips back. Heat flares low in gut and Atsumu latches onto his hips, grinding lightly into him. He’s so hot he’s not sure how he hasn’t caught flame yet, sweat trickling down the back of his thighs. Lowering his right hand, he strokes Hinata once, twice, then pushes in a little more harshly this time, but it’s still mostly teasing, enough to build up an irregular rhythm but nothing more. Each shallow thrust earns him a litany of sweet gasps and moans, only making him burn even hotter.

“Atsumu-san. _Atsumu._ Move, please.”

“I am moving,” he says, fingers sliding up to Hinata’s balls, still grinding inside.

Hinata is fucking himself back on his cock, movements growing more and more frantic, and it only makes his tenuous control fray. Atsumu’s not sure whether he’s being mean because Atsumu is mean, or whether it’s borne from the dark pit of possessiveness clawing up his insides. He wants to leave his mark on Hinata the way he has left a mark on him, sinking his teeth into Hinata’s golden shoulder and then laving over the bruise with his tongue. Let them all know when they see him in his loose vests on the beach that he already has someone taking care of him.

Hinata gasps, shuddering, and then groans when Atsumu rocks into him with more force. He enjoys this about Hinata in bed; he’s so very vocal about what he likes and it strokes his ego as much as it turns him on. Atsumu being Atsumu, those things are likely symbiotic. He knows his flaws. Knows they’re even more on display when he feels as raw as he does now, hands hot on Hinata’s skin for the first time in nearly a year. In far too long.

“Give me more, come on,” says Hinata, pushing back. “Fuck me.”

Atsumu’s control snaps and then he’s pulling nearly all the way out only to slam back in, Hinata grunting at the slap of skin against skin. He pins his hips in place and fucks into him, breathless and burning, losing his mind at the way his every nerve is electrified by the friction between their bodies. The muscles along Hinata’s back ripple with every movement, spine bending just so, and he can’t resist latching onto him and dragging him back until they’re upright, Hinata’s thighs stretched out on either side of him so he can push up into that hot, messy heat. Hinata’s head drops back on his shoulder, eyes fluttering as he releases desperate little breaths from his open mouth.

He teethes along his neck, feeling the way the heat is building and building with every thrust. His whole body is trembling with need, Hinata twitching beneath his grip. His spine arches as Atsumu wraps a hand around his cock and strokes to the rhythm of each bounce, mouthing along his jaw. “Ya look so pretty just like that,” he says, earning a drawn out moan from Hinata. “So good. Ya feel so good around me, Shouyou. Do I make ya feel good?”

Hinata groans again. “Good,” he murmurs. “Hot. Faster, Tsumu.”

Atsumu chokes off his own moan. “Yer killing me,” he says, pushing Hinata back down onto the bed, scrabbling for purchase on his hips so he can thrust in hard and fast. Their breaths are coming quicker and quicker, filling up the darkness of Hinata’s room. He’s not going to last much longer, his mind spinning away from him as he chases the sweetness in his core. His hand tightens around Hinata’s cock, squeezing, and he feels the moment Hinata’s entire body goes taut with a high-pitched whine, shooting hot across Atsumu’s hand.

It’s too much, his muscles clenching down on him, and with another thrust and then another he stills as he’s consumed by white-hot heat, spilling deep inside Hinata with a moan that feels like it’s ripped from his throat. It takes him a moment to come to, panting into the night, before he flops onto Hinata’s back, sweaty and boneless. Hinata puts up with him for a moment before he’s wriggling beneath him.

Atsumu pulls out, a flicker of arousal making him twitch when he sees his own release dripping out of him, but there’s no way he has it in him for another round. Worn out, he drops face first into Hinata’s pillow and breathes in the strawberry scent of his shampoo. His skin is still tingling, humming with pleasure, and his brain feels like static.

Hinata joins him, hot where their arms and thighs press together. His eyelids flutter, smile sleepy soft. There’s a line of bite marks down his throat.

“Welcome to Brazil, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu chuckles. That’s certainly a welcome he can get behind.

*

“Sorry we’re getting the bus again! I’m used to cycling everywhere.”

Atsumu snorts, leaning back in his seat as the city passes him by. “Dunno who ya think I am, that you think I’d be offended by a bus.” If anything it’s comfortable, even if the floor rattles a little more than he thinks is safe. It’s an interesting lens cutting through the city, watching one neighbourhood bleeding into another. The sun is slowly setting, golden light bouncing off the windows of the shops that pass by, brick and stone painted in strokes of mauve and terracotta.

“Well, I don’t have a car over here, so.”

“Ya don’t have a car in Japan, either.”

He sees Hinata shift out of the corner of his eye and he turns to laugh at his narrowed eyes, his hair curling at the ends from the shower he took after an afternoon spent playing volleyball on the beach. It looks too fluffy to take his expression seriously, his fingers twitching with the need to run his hand through it. Soft golden light bathes his face, one eye shining a brilliant amber as the sun cuts up a passing street before the shadow of the next building falls over them again. It’s not like Atsumu forgot, in the months spent apart, how beautiful Hinata is, but he’s struck breathless with it all the same.

Shifting back in his seat, he clears his throat. “Ya didn’t want to keep yer apartment back in São Paulo?”

Hinata seems to think about it for a moment, gaze flicking to the front as the bus wheezes to a stop and an old woman hobbles on, greeting the bus driver warmly. “My lease ran out about the same time that the league finished,” he says with a shrug. “Figured I’d come back to Rio before flying home for training camp. It’d feel wrong when I’m so close, you know?”

The noise he makes catches in the back of his throat but when Hinata looks at him quizzically he waves him off. There’s something about this city that becomes Hinata, he thinks, from the way he flits around the sand like it’s his to command, to the way he glows under the bright sunshine as he celebrates a point scored, to the way he greets the grocer down the street in easy Portuguese and finds himself locked in a ten minute conversation when he only came in for milk. Atsumu swallows down the lump in his throat that’s been forming since he arrived – no, even before then – since receiving photos of Hinata with a tiny brat in his lap accompanied by the caption, _I think I’m an uncle now_ and video calls from the beach where he attempts to yell over the roar of the ocean.

“Atsumu-san?” says Hinata.

Atsumu tilts his chin, smile fighting its way onto his face. “It’s nice here. I can see what brought ya back.”

Hinata’s own smile blooms wide, Atsumu’s traitorous heart still caught out by the effect of it when it’s levelled solely on him.

“Oh, look,” he exclaims, pointing, and Atsumu lets himself stare as Hinata leaps to his feet, grabbing his wrist. “This one is our stop. Come on, Atsumu-san.”

*

Heitor is tall. That’s the first impression Atsumu gets when he swings open the door and spots Hinata, grin spreading wide. “Shouyou!” he exclaims, pulling him in for a one-armed hug. Then he’s reeling off a stream of Portuguese that is lost on Atsumu, who only reacts when Hinata points to him. He waves when he hears his name, feeling a little awkward but pushing past it for Hinata’s sake. These people are like family to him, he thinks, and that’s something he can respect.

“Come in, come in,” Heitor says in English, a gentle hand on his shoulder in greeting before he’s moving into his apartment.

It’s bright, more so than he had been expecting, the décor almost a little cluttered with an array of framed photographs and knickknacks in the hallway, but Atsumu thinks it only adds to the homely feeling. There’s no genkan as such, just a pile of shoes upon a rack that he leaves his own shoes beside, unsure about protocol here. Maybe when you have two screaming brats and another on the way there isn’t any at all. He can already hear their chiming voices from through the door, Hinata skipping away and calling out in greeting.

A scattering of toys greets Atsumu in the living room, eye popping in their colours, and a tiny, chubby cheeked boy is scribbling with crayons on a piece of paper, kneeling over the coffee table. He glances up, eyes going wide when he spots Hinata, and then he’s toddling over and latching onto his legs. “Sho,” he gurgles. “Sho-sho.”

“Hello, Lucas,” Hinata says, swinging the boy into his arms and bouncing him as he squeals in delight.

Atsumu eyes the baby crawling across the floor warily, sweat building beneath his shirt. He’s never liked kids much, in truth, but he doesn’t want to go and offend Hinata’s people so he stands stiffly in the middle of the living room, listening to the flow of Portuguese around him and wondering if he’s intruding on a space that doesn’t belong to him. Hinata and Heitor speak to one another so rapid-fire that it's hard to even keep up with their body language, leaving him unmoored.

“Ah, Atsumu-san,” says Hinata, turning. His eyes sparkle under the lights. “This is Lucas. Isn’t he cute?” He bounces the boy again and pudgy fingers fly out to squeeze his cheeks, stretching them out like mochi. Hinata bears it with good humour and Atsumu cracks, laughing into his hand. Maybe it’s a little bit adorable.

Heitor points and laughs, shouting out, “Nice!” A woman pokes her head out of another door, curious expression shifting into mirth as she enters, a hand on her very pregnant belly. There’s a warmth to her, dark eyes glittering as she sniggers behind her hand and says something to Hinata. Hinata flushes red which only makes Atsumu curious, Heitor’s laughter booming through the living room.

Nice scoops up her baby and cradles him in her arms, gaze landing on Atsumu who freezes, looking around himself before settling back on her. She has a familiar, sly kind of look on her face; the kind he recognises because it normally belongs to him. Hinata catches them over the top of Lucas’ curly hair and bounds over, saying something in Portuguese to Nice, of which Atsumu only catches his name. Then he turns to Atsumu, his cheeks still an attractive shade of pink.

“This is Nice,” he says. “She’s Heitor’s wife.”

“I know that,” he says, tapping him on the forehead. “You showed me that picture of their wedding.”

He turns to Nice and stops himself just before he bows his head, instead reaching out a hand to shake. “ _O_ _lá,_ ” he tries, wincing at himself even as she gives him an easy laugh, her hand warm as she shakes back. She says something to Hinata who squawks and answers back in a high-pitched voice.

“What is it?” he says, paranoid. “What did she say?”

Hinata squirms, oblivious to Lucas drooling on his shirt. “She said you’re handsome.”

Atsumu grins at him, sensing that probably wasn’t all she said. “Oh, yeah? Why are ya blushing so much, then? Ya not going to talk up your boyfriend?”

“Atsumu-san,” he whines.

Heitor says something then and Nice laughs, Hinata scrubbing at his face with a sigh, and Atsumu decides he likes these people. Some things simply transcend a language barrier and there’s no denying the love here; the easy way that they tease Hinata like he’s just another one of the family. Heitor even pulls Atsumu in to look at more photographs from their wedding, his pride radiating from his wide smile as he points to a picture of himself and Nice cutting a tiered wedding cake, sliding onto a picture of Heitor and Hinata accepting some kind of award on the beach, Hinata beaming wide for the camera, hair damp with sweat. It’s a nice insight into their life.

“Atsumu,” he hears and looks up.

Nice places her younger son into a cot beside the TV with bars that stop him from escaping then turns and crooks a finger at Atsumu, beckoning him into the kitchen. She speaks softly to him, despite them both knowing he won’t understand, but he likes the sound of the language even as it means little to him. What does translate without words, however, is the delicious smell of cooking, Atsumu guided to the pot on the stove by his stomach.

Bubbling up within is a rich stew of black beans and beef, his mouth watering as it hits his nose. He looks up to catch her beaming, handing him a spoon and nodding for him to test it. Atsumu cups a hand beneath and lifts it to his lips, blowing away the steam before he sips, taken by the rich flavours bursting on his tongue. “Oh!” he exclaims. “Ya know, I bet Osamu would love this.” Then he remembers, flushing, but he thinks she understands anyway, shooing him out to sit at the table.

Together they all eat dinner around the dining table, most of the conversation flying over his head until Hinata translates into Japanese, switching between the languages so naturally Atsumu would almost think he’s missed his calling in life if he hadn’t seen him fly on the volleyball court. Heitor is as easy going as Hinata claimed, quick to joke and even quicker to laugh, even through the delay of translation. Nice is just as warm, gesturing more and more with her hands as the conversation gets more heated.

Time passes more quickly than he expects and before Atsumu knows it they’re waving goodbye, Atsumu hovering as Heitor engulfs Hinata in a hug, and he knows without knowing that he’s insisting he visit again soon. Surprise catches him out when Heitor leans over and claps Atsumu on the shoulder, giving him a nod before Hinata grabs his hand and pulls them both out into the night.

Hinata is surprisingly quiet as they walk back to the bus stop, fingers still intertwined in a way that makes his chest ache. It’s dark outside, the air a little cooler, and he shivers at the switch from the warmth of inside. Atsumu has so many things he wants to say but he doesn’t know how to give them voice, stealing glances at Hinata’s profile burnished in the streetlight. There’s a furl between his brows like the kind he gets when he’s thinking out a way to best his opponent on court, determined to let nothing beat him.

“They’re a nice family, huh?” he says, stroking his thumb over the back of Hinata’s hand and thrilling when he shivers.

“Yeah,” Hinata says softly. “It kind of feels like I’ve known them all my life, you know?”

“Mm.”

They don’t say anything else until they’re on the bus, squeezed in beside one another with Atsumu’s knees hitting the scraped back of the seat in front. He doesn’t dare let Hinata’s hand go the whole time, the bus so quiet that no one’s going to notice two men holding hands. For a while he rests like this, thoughts swirling, until the quiet all becomes too much.

“What’s going on up in there, Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata meets his gaze through the murky glass of the window, eyes bright and intense as streetlight washes over them. “Do you ever think that you just… want too much?”

Atsumu tilts his head back and snorts. Thinks of a youth spent with a bottomless pit in his stomach, devouring everything in his wake. Volleyball has been the only thing that could really fill that void in his life, up until the day Hinata walked right into the MSBY practice and right into his life.

“If ya asked anyone to describe me,” he says, meeting his gaze through the window again, "and I mean anyone who actually knows me, I’m pretty sure the first word they’d use would be greedy.”

Hinata turns then, eyes landing on Atsumu’s with an intensity that threatens to burn him up. “What? Ya can’t be surprised by that.”

Hinata’s lips curl into a pout, sighing as he settles back against his seat. “For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to play volleyball. To keep getting better and stronger. To keep climbing that ladder.”

“And?”

“And that hasn’t changed. I don’t feel like I’ve hit the top yet.”

Atsumu considers this. It’s not unexpected. If anything it’s what he _likes_ about Hinata. He’s a kindred spirit, as eager to eat up the world around him with the same sticky, selfish fingers as himself. “I don’t see what the problem is, then. Keeping climbing yer ladder, Shouyou-kun. Let me know the view from the top.”

The squiggly line gets deeper. “But what if – what if there’s nothing up there? What if everyone else is – getting married and growing up and – and I’m still just playing volleyball?”

“So what if ya are? Sounds good to me.”

Hinata stares at him for a long moment. The bus hits a bump that sends him careening into Atsumu who steadies him by the shoulders, bracing him with all ten fingers. The tension breaks and they share a laugh, Hinata shaking his head. “How do you make it so simple?”

“Because it is that simple. Don’t overthink it,” he says, like he hasn’t been doing anything else this entire trip. “Ya know what’s next, don’tcha?”

Hinata blinks for a moment and then his expression settles into one of shimmering defiance, brows pulling low. “The Olympics. The gold medal.”

“Yeah, that’s right. We’re taking on the world stage this time, Shouyou-kun. Does anything else matter right now?”

Hinata looks at him like the sun has just come out. Like Atsumu has just imparted the wisdom of the universe rather than pointing out the obvious. But it’s something Atsumu has come to appreciate about Inarizaki’s values as a club. The past is gone and he has no power to change it, but if there’s one thing he can impact then it’s the future, so that’s the only thing worth expending energy on. He means what he said: the blood-pounding thrill of the looming Olympics shakes him in quiet moments, having to remind himself that, yes, he is going to be representing his country at the sport he has given his youth to. And as he meets Hinata’s gaze with a smile, he realises there’s no one else he’d rather share that stage with.

“Oh, would ya look at that?” he says, standing and pushing the button. “I think this is our stop.”

*

Atsumu lets Hinata take the reigns that night, flat on his back with his head against the pillows as Hinata straddles his hips. Hinata rests his hands on his chest, palms splayed wide as he grinds down on his cock, head thrown back and lips open as he pants into the darkness. There are lingering bite marks down his chest from the night previous that only make Atsumu feel even hungrier, his fingertips digging into his hipbones as he nears the edge. An excruciating heat builds in his core, his own breaths coming quicker and quicker at the sight of a heavy-lidded Hinata coming undone on his cock.

“Ya look so good, Shouyou. Look so good, just like that.”

“Atsumu-san,” he gasps, falling over to brace himself on his palms again, hair matting to his forehead. “I’m close.”

“That’s it,” he says, a hand wrapping around his stiff cock and stroking him to the rhythm of their bodies. “Come for me. Let go.”

Hinata grinds down and releases a ragged cry as he stills, spilling across Atsumu’s hand. Atsumu bucks up, feeling his own body hit a crescendo with a gasp, and it’s all too much at once. For one blistering second he’s burning up, vision sparking, and the next thing he knows Hinata is crashing down onto the bed beside him, nuzzling into his pillow as his chest heaves, pink with the flush that has spread across his body. It makes him want to go again. To spend the next day in bed doing nothing but Hinata, four walls and the fluttering curtains blowing from the breeze through the open window on their flushed skin.

Atsumu rolls over, blows on his sweaty fringe. Tells himself to think of his own advice. Just the Olympics. Only the Olympics. The Olympics. He tilts his head, rakes his gaze over Hinata leaning back on his pillow, chest rising and falling with soft exhales into the stillness of the room.

“Shouyou-kun, move in with me.”

The sheets rustle as Hinata turns, eyes wide. “Atsumu-san?”

“I mean, ya know.” He trills a laugh, waving a hand in the air. _Calm down._ Atsumu sucks in a breath and shifts onto his side, fixing Hinata with an intent look. “I mean, when you’re back in Japan. Stay with me. I know ya’ll be coming back out to Brazil but it’s not like ya’ll never go back, right?” His heart thumps traitorously in his chest, palms gripping the sheets beneath him.

Hinata blinks, looking lost for a moment. “Are you… sure you would want that?”

Atsumu’s frowns. “What makes ya think I wouldn’t?”

Hinata leans on his palm, heavy lidded and soft as he stares back at Atsumu. “I’ve been in Brazil for most of this year. I know I haven’t been the best at keeping in touch. I just don’t –”

“You don’t want to fight for this?”

Atsumu is honestly surprised the words don’t stick in his throat. He mouth is so dry he feels like he has swallowed handfuls of sand and then lay out under the burning sun to bake. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple but it's weirdly cold against his flushed skin.

“It’s not that.” Hinata sits up, expression shifting. More solid now.

“What is it then, Shouyou-kun?”

“I’m never going to stop. I’m going to keep fighting to get stronger. Maybe I’ll go other places, to new leagues. I haven’t seen the top, Atsumu-san.”

The laughter surprises him as much as it clearly does Hinata, his shoulders shaking. “Why d’ya think I like you so much, huh?” He reaches out, brushes a thumb over Hinata’s cheek. “Ya think I care about rings and babies screaming their way through my sleep and some Ikea furniture arranged according to some phony hack’s feng shui bullshit?”

Atsumu scoffs, poking him gently in the forehead right where Hinata’s brows scrunch together. “I want the fight with you. I want to stand in the Ariake Arena with you. Want to watch yer games across the ocean and say to people, ‘isn’t he amazing?’ Want ya to watch my games and think, ‘damn, he’s the one I’m banging?’ Yeah?” He punctuates this with another tap, Hinata swiping his hand away.

Atsumu meets his stare, pulse thrumming. It’s not unlike the way Hinata looks as he assesses his opponent from across the net, intense and animalistic. He tilts his head, just the hint of challenge, and sees Hinata move before he registers that he’s been shoved back onto the pillows, Hinata hovering over him. From this angle he can see the line of hickeys he pressed down his neck not ten minutes ago. It’s the last thought he’s allowed before they’re all burned away by Hinata’s hot mouth attacking his, hands scrabbling through his hair.

Surging up to meet him, Atsumu licks his way past his lips, a thigh pressing between Hinata’s own, his own arousal stirring once again. Hinata’s hands plant on his shoulders and push him back to the mattress before he can fully rise, eyes burning as he stares down.

“Shouyou-kun?”

“You mean it? You won’t get mad? You won’t get tired?”

Atsumu lets his eyes fall to half mast, smiling up at him even as Hinata presses his fingers right into the meat of his shoulders. “Haven’t grown tired of ya yet, have I?”

The next thing he knows he’s being thoroughly kissed, Hinata growling as he bites across his lips and then licks his way into his mouth, stealing the breath from his lungs. Atsumu decides that, if the choice is between breathing and kissing Hinata, then he doesn’t really want to come back up for air.

*

To Atsumu’s relief, Pedro has a rudimentary understanding of Japanese. Apparently he’s been learning, mostly through watching a fuck tonne of anime. He’s positively ecstatic to find out that not only does Hinata know both the author and the editor of Little Giant but that he’s also brought signed copies of the first two volumes. Pedro holds them up like they’re precious jewels, eyes sparkling, and then babbles away in Portuguese while Hinata laughs good-naturedly.

Atsumu sips at his fruit juice, condensation running down past his fingertips. It’s hot outside but the beachside cafe gifts them with blasts of cool air from the vents above and he’s content to lean on his hand and watching the holidaymakers out on the beach, letting the rhythm of the language wash over him. When he turns to tune into Hinata’s speech, his hands moving around him as he gets more and more excited, he gets distracted by the peek of a bruise from beyond the collar of his slouchy shirt and feels a thrill in his stomach. Maybe it’s the heat but he finds he’s been insatiable since arriving in Brazil.

“Atsumu plays Olympics with Shouyou?” says Pedro in a thick accent.

Atsumu leans back in his seat and grins as he nods. “Yeah. Me and you together again, right, Shouyou-kun?”

Pedro attempts to say something, frowns, and then turns to Hinata.

“Hey says he watched you on TV and that you were really good.” Atsumu preens. “Not as good as me, of course.”

“Oi!” Atsumu wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him in to scrape his knuckles over his head, Hinata giggling. “Yer a little rat, ya hear me?”

At first Pedro looks startled but his expression softens, joining in their laughter. He’s alright, is Pedro, Atsumu decides. This is the man Hinata stayed with when he first came to Brazil. The one who gradually opened up under Hinata’s relentless enthusiasm, who gave him a tiny slice of home to connect to when it felt like he had nothing else. It’s something Atsumu can appreciate.

“Manga fan, then?” he says, pointing to the volumes still lying on the table. “Ya like One Piece?”

Pedro’s eyes light up, head rising. “One Piece?” And then the next thing Atsumu knows he’s babbling away in a mixture of Portuguese and fragments of Japanese, Hinata translating what doesn’t cross the universal language of exaggerated hand signs and half-baked noises. They whittle away the afternoon like that, letting the world pass by in the cool beachside cafe, Latin pop playing over the speakers as a stream of customers in shorts and bikinis filter in and out around them.

By the time Atsumu and Hinata finally leave the cafe Atsumu is stiff, stretching out the ache in his limbs from sitting in the same position too long. He gazes out to the sun-streaked water, strokes of gold and amber and lilac shimmering in the wake of the sinking sun. The whole world is rosy pink, the sand the colour of seashells as it meets the froth of the incoming tide. Salt lingers on the breeze, tugging at his hair, and for a moment all he can do is stand there and drink it in. Yeah, maybe he can understand just a little how Brazil has managed to worm its way under Hinata’s skin.

A soft huff of breath makes him turn to see the hint of a smile creeping across the corners of Hinata’s mouth, sly and secretive. His hair blows around his face, a deep russet, his eyes blazing like ensnared flame. Atsumu feels a little like he’s been punched in the gut, suddenly breathless, and he can’t bring himself to look away. Part of him itches to reach out, to touch, but he doesn’t want to mar the perfect painting before his eyes.

Hinata’s gaze shifts to stare out at the ocean. “It’s beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah,” he utters. The word catches in his throat. Atsumu’s not looking at the ocean.

Suddenly Hinata looks back with a fierce grin. “Race you!” he shouts and then he’s dashing across the sand towards the water, spilling laughter behind him.

“Oi!” Atsumu races after him, stumbling and ungainly as the sand shifts beneath his feet, heedless of the heads turning towards them. “This ain’t a fair fight.”

Hinata hits the shoreline before him, splashing into the spray with cries of delight. His laughter turns into a squeal as Atsumu latches onto his waist and swings him into the air, meeting his gaze before he tosses him into the water. He shakes with laughter as Hinata emerges, dripping wet, and shakes his hair out like a dog. His tongue juts out from his mouth as he locks gazes with Atsumu, fingers spread out in front of him and posture low.

“You’re going to pay for that one!” he says as he pounces, tackling Atsumu into the water.

Atsumu flails beneath him, saltwater stinging his eyes as he’s submerged, instantly soaked through. He pushes up onto his knees still clinging to Hinata, gasping with laughter and salt stinging his throat. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he gazes down at Hinata with his shirt rendered translucent, sticking to the firm muscles of his shoulders and chest. His cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling, and Atsumu wants to press him down onto the sand and make love to him then and there.

Apparently Hinata is having similar thoughts because their lips crash together at the same time, a tangle of limbs through the spray, his hands running through the dark auburn of Hinata’s wet hair. The waves crash against them, rolling out past them onto the sun blushed shore, and Atsumu thinks he never wants to leave this dream. Never wants to wake up from the embrace of Hinata’s arms.

Hinata peppers his face with softer kisses, beaming with childish delight as he smacks a peck on his lips and then giggles, shrieking when Atsumu hauls him up into his arms and stands, water sloughing off him. Hinata’s limbs flail, half-heartedly beating against his shoulders, but it’s punctuated by his hiccuping laughter.

“I’ve got ya now, Shouyou-kun. What ya gonna do about it?”

Hinata’s expression evens out, gaze roaming over Atsumu’s face. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, and then he’s planting both hands on either side of his jaw and pushing his mouth against Atsumu’s own again with a noise of delight.

When they break apart for air Atsumu stares up into his eyes, unable to fight his grin. “I’m glad ya finally invited me.”

*

Atsumu is lounging on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, sending pictures of the beach to Osamu while Hinata chats animatedly to his laptop, waving his hands around with enthusiasm and emitting attention-grabbing squawks every now and then. He pauses in the middle of his text, watching Hinata lean over his screen, the gleam reflecting in his eyes.

“Enough of that, Shouyou. When are you flying back to Japan?”

“Next week,” Hinata says with an air of apology.

The voice on the other end makes a noise of protest. “I was going to come out and visit! We were supposed to go and hustle the tourists again!”

“Ah, but training camp starts soon and I still need to visit home first.”

“Hm. Well, if you see Iwa-chan you tell him I’m coming. I’m going to beat his crummy team.”

Hinata laughs. “I thought you guys were friends!”

“That’s exactly why I have to shove my victory in his face!”

That only makes Hinata laugh even harder, enough to draw Atsumu’s curiosity. He drifts closer, dropping down onto the sofa next to him with their thighs pressed together, peering at the screen. The man on the other end is familiar, with chestnut hair and dark eyes that blink back at him in appraisal. Oikawa Tooru, of San Juan. For a man who never made it to Nationals, he’s heard quite a bit about the setter from Miyagi.

“ _Shouyou,_ ” crows Oikawa, not looking away from him, “who’s this?”

Atsumu smirks, aware that he’s still shirtless. His chest is littered with various hickeys and bite marks from Hinata’s ferocious ministrations the night before and he isn’t the slightest bit ashamed, gazing back. Hinata is no less shameless, only he doesn’t think he’s aware of the tension crackling between the setters.

“This is Atsumu-san,” he says. “I played with him on the –”

“Black Jackals, yes.” Oikawa narrows his eyes. “I recognise you.”

Atsumu slings an arm around Hinata’s shoulders and grins as Oikawa stiffens. “Shouyou-kun says yer playin’ for Argentina, huh? Guess we’ll be seein’ ya soon enough then.”

“You’re on the Japanese team?”

“Me and Shouyou together.”

Hinata looks between them, expression still innocent. “Right! We’re going to give you quite the challenge. I hope you’re prepared.”

“Hm,” says Oikawa, stroking his chin. “You’re going to have your pick of setters, eh, Shouyou?” His lips curl when Atsumu narrows his eyes. “I bet you’ve missed Tobio-chan after so long apart.”

“Yeah! He’s going to be real surprised when he sees what I’ve learned in Brazil.”

Atsumu stiffens, narrowing his eyes at Oikawa who’s grin is only growing sharper by the second.

“After all, Karasuno’s Freak Duo are pretty famous after Nationals. I bet everyone is excited to see you two on the same team again.”

Hinata looks fired up, oblivious to the game Oikawa is playing. Atsumu only leans closer to Hinata, reminding himself that out of all the setters who have ever set their sights on Hinata, he’s the one who’s sharing an apartment with him in Brazil right now.

“Of course, there’s only so much Tobio-chan can do for you, isn’t that right? He doesn’t know how to take care of you properly, does he?” Oikawa’s tone turns sultry.

“Oikawa-san…”

Atsumu glances at Hinata, sees his cheeks flood with colour. His stomach clenches but he forces himself to relax. If anything it’s just confirmation of what he already knew. From the way Hinata talks about Brazil, and the time he spent with Oikawa there, he’s always been pretty sure that _something_ had gone down between them. Honestly, given the easy, handsome face on the screen before him, he can’t even say he really blames him. It’s fine. He can be mature about this. Even if he wants nothing more than to spike a ball right in Oikawa’s face.

“Well, don’t let me keep you two from your… _engagements_ ,” Oikawa says with a waggle of his brows. “I’m sure you have plenty to keep you occupied, hm?”

“I’ll see you soon, Oikawa-san!”

When the call is finished and Hinata hangs up, leaning back on the sofa with a sigh, Atsumu studies the tension in his posture, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Ya must be getting excited.”

Hinata glances up at him.

“It’s gonna be quite the fight. You, me and Tobio-kun on the same team. Against that guy. About as big as the stage gets, isn’t it?”

Hinata snorts. “It feels strange to think about it. I dreamed of this for so long and now it’s finally happening. I remember the first time I was here and I caught one of Kageyama’s games. I had all these thoughts rattling around in my head. This fear that maybe I had made a mistake. It hurt to watch him out there, playing against France, when I was nothing more than a delivery boy.”

_You’ve never been just a delivery boy,_ he thinks, but instead he says, “Well, ya have yer moment now. You and me both. Don’t think I’m not excited about it.” It’s been brewing inside him ever since the roster was first announced. In his dreams he sees the stage, hears the chants of the crowd. Imagines his red jersey in his hands.

“I’m glad you made that promise, Atsumu-san.”

He stills.

Hinata smiles. “I had no idea back then just what it would come to mean to me, that you wanted to be my side.”

Atsumu scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks burn. Hinata has this way of being so earnest sometimes that he has no idea how to react, shifting in his seat. Overwhelmed, he latches onto a different thread. “Say, who’s this Iwa-chan, anyway?”

Hinata looks thoughtful for a moment. “Well, that’s an interesting story.”

*

That night Hinata presses Atsumu down onto the bed and enters him with his face hovering above Atsumu’s own, the slow, agonising slide of it combined with every ripple of feeling across Hinata’s features so intimate that it carves a space into his chest. He’s breathless from start to release, gripping tight onto Hinata’s shoulders, breathing into his mouth, unable to rip his eyes away from the molten amber above him. They don’t speak. They don’t kiss. They simply take one another in; every detail, every line and scar, every pore. The pressure of Hinata’s weight atop him is exquisite and he never wants it to end, fighting release even as the tension winds tighter and tighter until the force of it bowls right into him.

Atsumu lies on his back afterwards, the curtains swirling with the breeze out the corner of his eye. He feels raw. Cut open. Burnt red by the sun. There’s some rare sincere quality of Hinata's that forces him to abandon his usual pretences, ripping through the layers of smirks and quips he usually cloaks himself in. It’s something he doesn’t quite know what to do with, turning it over in his mind as Hinata dozes on his stomach with his drool seeping into the pillow.

Can he really afford to give his heart to Hinata, so fully and irrevocably, when he needs to share him with something as grand as sweeping as Brazil? Atsumu glances over, watches Hinata twisted in the sheets with his leg threatening to fall over the edge and finds himself smiling before he’s even done it. Maybe a little long-distance separation isn’t the be all and end all. Maybe he’s thinking about the _after_ , if the pair of them can make it through that far together. Maybe he just wants, and as Atsumu has done his entire life, he’ll pursue it with dogged obsession until he tames it beneath his hands, even if that thing is his own greedy need to consume.

Maybe, despite the fear that has been creeping over him for a while now, Hinata cares about him enough to make that commitment too. It is this thought that lets him finally drift off, having worked his thoughts down until they fray and snap. 

At dawn he’s shaken awake by Hinata’s hand on his shoulder. Hinata holds a finger to his lips like he’s holding in a secret, crooking his fingers to beckon him forth, and Atsumu emerges from the bed messy-haired and bleary-eyed, grumbling as he lumbers out after him. He’s pretty sure he blinks the bus journey to the beach, slumped against Hinata’s shoulder as the engine rumbles beneath him. When they step out and walk towards the sand the sky is still dark and there’s a brisk wind.

“There a reason ya dragged me out here at dawn?” he sighs into a yawn.

Hinata merely flashes him another of his secret smiles and then grabs his hand, threading their fingers together in a way that alights his interest. Out towards the water he leads Atsumu, the rumble of the tide so much louder for the gloom that conceals the line where it meets the sand. Overhead a gull cries.

Suddenly Hinata stops, unfurling his mat, and drops down cross-legged onto the sand. Atsumu stares down at him. “Uh, what are we doing?”

“Yoga,” says Hinata, like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. He pats a space on the mat next to him that is somehow already dusted with sand. “Sit.”

Atsumu complies.

“Close your eyes.” After a moment of staring into his eyes to verify that he’s serious – yes, he is – Atsumu does. “Let me move you.” And it’s not that much of a hardship to let Hinata’s hands roam his skin, pushing his thighs, rearranging his position. The warmth beneath his palms helps Atsumu relax. Helps him be contorted into the lotus position, even if it stretches at his muscles a little. He sneaks a peek from the corner of his eye but Hinata taps at his shoulder and clucks his tongue until Atsumu lets them both fall closed.

“Listen to the sound of the waves,” Hinata says. “Match your breathing. In and then out.”

It all sounds a bit hocus-pocus to Atsumu but he’s not going to tell Hinata that so he gives it an attempt, feeling the brush of the wind through his hair, sand dusting along his bare arms. It’s cool but not unpleasantly so and his muscles burn but it’s not an altogether unfamiliar sensation. Somewhere both far and near the ocean breathes, washing into the shore and then dragging back out again with a gentle cadence that pulls him in. He finds himself comfortably drifting, mind blissfully free of thought. It's a pure kind of sensation, divorced from the mind's need to contextualise.

After what feels like both moments and hours, Hinata says, “Do you want me to show you some more positions?”

“I think I can already think of a few,” he teases as he opens his eyes, catching on the first blush of sunlight stretching across the horizon line, shimmering against the dark water. Gold bleeds into the deep blue of the sky, bringing with it the promise of another beautiful day in Rio. It looks like something out of a postcard. Maybe it’s Atsumu’s turn to send something to Kita. Let him know he does other things than just play volleyball.

“It only gets more difficult from here on out,” Hinata says with a glint in his eye. “If you’re not up to the challenge we can always go –”

Hunger flares to life in his belly. “Oh, no, Shouyou-kun, please go ahead. Show me what ya got.”

All in all, there are worse ways to spend the morning than being moulded by Hinata’s warm and capable hands.

*

It’s everything he expected it would be and more when he steps onto the court in the middle of the Ariake Arena, the crowd thunderous from all directions around him. It vibrates inside his chest, makes him feel like in this moment he’s standing atop the entire world. The five rings are everywhere; the same he’s seen emblazoned on the TV throughout the years as he worked through both his high school and professional careers. And now he’s finally here, hairs standing on end as he gazes out across the stadium, shielding his eyes against the overhead lights.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Hinata muses, “how the court looks just the same but it doesn’t _feel_ the same.”

“Mm,” Atsumu agrees. The atmosphere is electric, crackling like a live wire. “Feels pretty fucking good though, right?”

Hinata grins wide. Feral. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

It feels like the whole team is waiting with baited breath for the moment when the Argentinian team files in in their sky blue jerseys, the crowd screaming around them. He’s something in person, is Oikawa Tooru, shoulders back and his head held high as if he’s the king leading his knights to battle. There’s a fierceness in his eyes that only Atsumu’s best opponents carry with them.

His gaze catches on Hinata and softens. “Shouyou!”

“Oikawa-san!”

In the middle of the chaos the pair embrace and Atsumu narrows his eyes when Oikawa pulls back, gaze skimming his own. He notices a figure lingering just behind the Japanese team, eyes flickering between a clipboard and the arena around him. Smirking to himself, Atsumu trots over and drops an elbow onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder, saying loud enough for his voice to carry, “Hey, Iwa-chan, I think I feel a twinge in my shoulder. Maybe you’ll need to give me a massage.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, then brushes him off his shoulder, but Atsumu can see the edges of his mouth curving upwards even as he tries to fight it. “Don’t you worry,” he says gruffly, “we’ll take that guy down.”

“Now, now, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa, pointing at him. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Iwaizumi cracks his knuckles, grinning. “I’ve been waiting more than a decade to kick your ass.”

“Oh, mean! You’re in for it now! Don’t blame me when I send your whole team home crying.”

Atsumu watches this unfold with no small amount of amusement until Hinata drifts back over, stealing his attention once more. “Are ya ready, Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata meets his gaze, teeth bared in a savage grin that tells him everything he needs to know. He nudges him with his shoulder, leans over to murmur in his ear. “Hey, if we win this whole thing will ya let me fuck you with your medal on?”

Colour blooms across Hinata’s cheeks but when he looks up his gaze only burns a notch hotter. “That means you’re going to have to keep up with me, Atsumu-san.” There’s a challenge in the line of his brow as it rises.

Atsumu grins wide as the referee calls for them to line up, the hunger burning up his stomach. “No stopping ‘til we reach the top, right?” He reaches out his fist.

With force Hinata bumps them together and then they jog onto the court with the rest of their teammates behind them. This is it. The moment he’s dreamed of his entire life. In this moment there is no past, bogged down by past failures and demons, and no future, weighted by the black hole that looms over his horizon. Out here beneath the blazing arena lights all concerns get stripped back to the simple truth of six players, a court and a net. To Atsumu this is volleyball and there’s no one he wants to share it with more than Hinata Shouyou, the man who has taken his heart hostage.

Maybe they’ll ride out whatever storm is thrown at them. Maybe they’ll crash and burn in a blazing wreckage. There’s no way of predicting what the future will hold for either of them, and no way of knowing whether the fire between them will ever spark out, but Atsumu’s never been a quitter and he’s sure as hell not going to start backing down now.

Win or lose, he and Hinata both have the fight in them, and that’s enough to give him hope.

**Author's Note:**

> When I first sat down to write this fic I expected it to be a lot angstier given that Hinata just upped and left for Brazil again not too long after joining MSBY timeline wise but whenever I write Atsumu it just turns into such mush lmao. In a way I'm kind of glad it didn't though, since as much as I enjoy melodramatic!Atsumu for the laughs, I don't really think either of these two are that prone to it otherwise. Instead this is just supposed to give them a sense of closer in my head, given how it all plays out at the end of the manga. Ngl I'm a tiny bit sad to break up the BJ4 since I love them but I think Hinata going back to Brazil makes perfect narrative sense.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. As always thanks for reading!


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